


Pancakes or Waffles?

by quinoareeves



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Behavioral Analysis Unit (Criminal Minds), Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Series, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:36:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29686845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quinoareeves/pseuds/quinoareeves
Summary: Reid’s feelings for Y/n have been gradually building up and just as he’s beginning to gain confidence around her, the team gets called on a case where all the victims have a striking similarity to Y/n. (written mainly from the reader’s perspective but with a lot of insight on Reid’s mind)(also posted on my tumblr: blackbirdcity)
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s), Spencer Reid/Reader, Spencer Reid/You
Comments: 22
Kudos: 64





	1. Pancakes or Waffles?

**Author's Note:**

> Spencer Reid x BAUfem! Reader
> 
> Category: slow burn, fluff, slight angst?
> 
> TW: mentions of murder/assault/asphyxiation (not to the reader or main characters - it’s for a case)
> 
> Note: Hi everyone! This is the first series I’m posting on here so I hope you enjoy it! I’m still writing this so it might be a bit before I upload more. I just recently started Criminal Minds. I’m halfway through season 7 and I watched 60 episodes in 7 days so I don’t doubt I’ll finish the series in the near future. I’m absolutely head over heels for Reid and I couldn’t help myself from writing! Requests are open if you’d like!
> 
> This is also posted on my tumblr: blackbirdcity

_**“Every one of us is different in some way, but for those of us who are more different, we have to put more effort into convincing the less different that we can do the same thing they can, just differently.” - Marlee Matlin** _

Spencer Reid allowed himself a guilty smile once he slipped into the empty elevator with a coffee in each hand. In his right was a simple disposable cup that held plain espresso and milk and much more sugar than he’d care to admit. The liquid sloshed in its container as he knuckled the button that corresponded with the BAU’s floor. Reid rolled his shoulder towards his neck to secure the strap of his bag as the elevator’s doors glided together, temporarily locking him inside. The coffee was pushing Reid’s right palm to its limits; he hadn’t gotten a chance to set it down since he’d claimed it from the shop’s counter, and he could feel his hand becoming overwhelmed with the heat.

However, his left hand held a completely different drink: an iced peppermint latte. Condensation had already dripped its way down to Reid’s fingers, not that he could feel them though. The icy nature of the drink had numbed his fingers when he was a block away from the FBI’s entrance and that was three minutes ago.

Still, Reid was sheepishly grinning. The cup in his left hand belonged to you and he couldn’t wait to cherish another one of your warm smiles; he could never forget them even if he tried. If Spencer was being honest with himself, he’d do anything for you. If you asked him to worship the ground you walked on, he’d fall to his knees in an instant and he wouldn’t care if he bruised them in the process.

He kept those types of thoughts to himself and as much as he wanted to tell you how he felt, he just couldn’t do it. Spencer had spent countless nights pacing around in his apartment and retracing his steps in his mind, re-analyzing every expression, interaction, utterance, and iteration of the day. He couldn’t help but profile you. You were too captivating to ignore and he did have an eidetic memory...not that that was an excuse for his obsession.

As lame as it sounded he took a while to work up the courage to speak to you outside of a professional context. Reid was scared he’d say the wrong thing or say too much. As smart as he was, he knew his sentences could be too long, too off topic, too extraneous. Sometimes his mind wouldn’t remember how to shut itself off. Reid understood that he could get too passionate at times but he just couldn’t help it. Hotch or Morgan stopped his rants at least once per case and he could tell Garcia was a little shaken from time to time. Prentiss couldn’t hide her annoyance well enough behind sarcasm and Rossi would often simplify Reid’s spiels since it was obvious most people he interacted with couldn’t understand him. And, as loving as JJ’s smiles were at times, he could tell she was holding back how she really felt.

Spencer was smart and everyone knew that. He had nothing to prove, this was just the way his brain worked. He had a theory that his brain was filled to capacity from all the excess information he’d processed and held over the years and that the only way to let more info in was to let old data explode outwards. It was silly and he knew this wasn’t the case but at least it gave him some peace of mind even if it was for only a second.

Regardless, it took awhile for him to build up the courage to really talk to you - like about something other than a case.

When he finally did talk to you it was back when you were still fairly new to the BAU about a year ago. And, maybe that time didn’t even count since you were the one who initiated the conversation.

At the time, the team had just returned from a case and somehow you and Reid had been the last ones left in the bullpen. It was a rare night when Hotch decided to bag the paperwork and leave it for the next day and as hard as he worked you couldn’t blame him. Hotch deserved to spend some quality time with Jack.

You were finishing up some paperwork of your own when you’d asked Reid a trivial question from across your desk. “Pancakes or waffles?” you asked, closing a file and pushing it aside to focus your attention to Reid.

His eyebrows raised as he processed your question, looking up from the case files he was reviewing. “Pancakes or waffles?” he repeated in a soft tone. Why would you ask that? There were about twenty different reasons that flashed across his mind as to why you, Y/n L/n, would ask him, Spencer Reid, pancakes or waffles? and he couldn’t figure out which one it was.

Reid’s lips were parted, frozen in confusion. “Pancakes or-?”

He cut himself off.

Reid knew he was overanalyzing this question just as he did with every one that came before but this wasn’t a question about a case or about work which made him even more curious as to what the why was.

As stupid as it sounded, he didn’t know how to answer you because he didn’t know your answer. If he wasn’t a step ahead of you it wasn’t worth it to him to respond first, especially since he knew his answer might disappoint you if it didn’t coincide with yours. Spencer knew he only had this dilemma with you and it drove him insane since he knew his response ultimately wouldn’t matter to you. You were still new to the team and he didn’t want to ruin anything.

In Spencer’s mind, he’d imagined a hundred different questions that you might ask that could render him speechless or stuck, and he’d prepared answers, but he never imagined that the one that would finally disarm him was one about breakfast food.

It wouldn’t have mattered if Prentiss or Garcia had asked this question because he’d simply reply with “pancakes” and move on. With you, it was different. What if you didn’t like pancakes or what if you had been looking for a reason to broaden the distance between you two? The distance between you wasn’t anywhere near intimate, but to Spencer every millimeter mattered.

“Spencer? You okay?” Your eyebrows furrowed as you analyzed the frozen genius.

He snapped free from his thoughts and turned the question around. “Yeah, yeah! I uh, I’m fine! Which do you prefer?” Reid had suddenly become self conscious of his hair and he attempted to fix whatever he thought was wrong with it. His gaze had been childish and he was avoiding eye contact.

“Waffles,” you replied matter of factly, “But I like pancakes too.”

Your response confused Reid. “Why ask the question if you can’t decide yourself?” His words were gentle and analytical.

You smiled, “Because we’re going to that 24/7 diner and I was just curious.”

So that was the reason. You weren’t trying to judge him or ridicule him or make pointless smalltalk to fill the silence of the bullpen. You were trying to invite him. Invite him to a diner...after a case...just the two of you...just for fun.

Reid reciprocated your smile that day and he would almost every day that followed.

But now, as Reid was smiling to himself in the elevator, he felt proud. It took time, but he had gradually opened up to you and now the two of you were good friends. A couple months ago, Spencer would’ve freaked at the idea of buying you a coffee because of all the things that could insinuate, but it didn’t matter anymore. He cared about you and the warmth of your smile melted all his doubts anyways. Well, most doubts.

Spencer squeezed his eyes shut for a moment in an attempt to wring the tired cloud that held him. He was foggy this time of morning especially since Hotch had called the team in earlier than normal. All cases were time sensitive but this particular one needed immediate attention since the unsub had escalated from killing once a month to twice a week. Local PD had only figured out the victims were linked when the unsub sent a note directly to their station. It confounded Spencer that law enforcement had even missed the link in the first place since there was an obvious signature and the bodies had all been staged exactly the same.

Now there were six bodies and probably more to come.

As Reid exited the elevator and entered the bullpen, he was finally able to shake the sleepy mist from his demeanor. There you were, chatting with Prentiss excitedly at your desk. Somehow, no matter the time, you maintained a positive aura and it was infectious. The people around you were almost always able to cheer up just by being in your presence. Even Hotch had cracked a smile at times.

“Y/n? I got your coffee,” Spencer greeted in a soft voice once he entered the BAU. He set the disposable cup on your desk with a delicate smile, careful to not interrupt Emily’s story about Sergio.

The past few days he’d made it a game to guess your coffee order and to everyone’s surprise, he got it right on the second try; everyone assumed he’d get it on the first. Normally, Spencer would internally curse himself for failing something like this but he knew it was just a fun game - especially since it gave him an excuse to be nice to you, not that he needed one though. He just simply enjoyed it.

The first time Spencer handed you a drink was four days ago and he immediately knew that something was off. His eyes were curious as he studied your every move, analyzing your micro expressions. He could notice the faintest changes, whether it was a break in your breathing pattern or a faster blink than usual.

Spencer couldn’t hide his smirk and you knew he was seconds from explaining his mistake.

“It’s peppermint isn’t it,” he blurted, hands in his pockets and his weight in his heels, “That’s what’s missing”. He talked confidently, displaying his signature smile.

You’d only taken one sip and yet somehow he knew. “How did you-”

“You’re not very good at concealing your facial expressions,” Spencer gestured with his hands, “and, judging by the shade of previous iced lattes you’ve brought to work before, I know you add an extra shot of espresso. I also know that you ask for light ice...” Reid trailed, judging your expression to determine whether or not to continue. To his delight you were intrigued.  
“The one time you asked me to recycle your cup I could tell that the weight was lighter than an average iced latte,” he elaborated. “You tend to drink your coffee quite quickly so naturally, the ice wouldn’t have much time to melt.”

You smiled, looking up at Reid, and took another sip. “That doesn’t explain how you knew it was missing peppermint,” you verbally poked him.

His eyebrows raised, “Oh! I caught a whiff of peppermint last week when you sat next to me on the jet but I assumed it was your chapstick so I opted for vanilla. Silly mistake I guess because you’ve been using a Burt’s Bees honey flavored one recently.”

You giggled softly and playfully tossed your chapstick at his arm, “Silly mistake I guess?” You mocked the genius who’d basically nailed your order. “Reid, don’t ever change.”

Spencer’s face lit up as he picked up the lip balm. “I won’t.”

“Thank you, by the way, for the coffee,” you paused, “I still enjoy iced vanilla lattes so this one won’t go to waste, I promise.”

“I know,” he spoke with another knowing smile.

You thought he’d quit buying you coffees once he figured out your order but this was the fourth day in a row that he’d come in to work with two cups in his hands: an iced latte in his left, a hot coffee in his right. You vowed to secretly slip a $10 into his bag later.

Spencer settled down at his desk which was next to Prentiss’, who eyed your coffee and raised a brow. She diverted her attention to Reid and paused her story about Sergio, feigning distress. “Hey, Reid, where’s my coffee? What is it, day four, and you’re still not bringing me one?” Emily playfully rolled her eyes.

“I don’t know your order,” he quipped, knowing damn well he could figure it out just as easily as he’d figured yours-probably even easier.

Prentiss scoffed and focused back on you. “Anyways, I was looking everywhere for the little guy and you know where he was? He was sleeping in the sink.”

Hotch emerged from his office in a hurry and the three of you knew it was time for the briefing. “Guys,” he called, summoning everyone together.

The team gathered their files and made their way into the conference room.

“So far there have been six victims, all girls, all early twenties, all abducted and held for at least 36 hours then dumped along a road just near the forest in Livingston, Montana.” JJ’s eyebrows knit together as concern grabbed her face. “First victim, Faith Howard, was found about two months ago,” JJ clicked through the photos. “Second was Kylie Simmons, found a month later. The unsub changed his pattern and is abducting two girls a week now. His most recent victims are Jackie Ply, Carrie Casper, Renee Kyle, and Blythe Abrams.”

Rossi was visibly frustrated. “Livingston’s PD is just now calling us in? There’s six bodies and he’s definitely not going to stop anytime soon.”

“It gets worse,” JJ frowned as she clicked to the next slide. “He’s been sending notes to the police department and local law enforcement only connected the cases recently because of that.”

The first note on the screen was typed and read:  
I’m not going to stop and I deserve credit by now.

Morgan leaned forward in disbelief as he viewed the next few photos. “Who the hell does this guy think he is? Asking for credit like what he’s done is an accomplishment.”

“There’s an obvious signature, how dumb can Montana’s PD be?” Prentiss spat.

You could tell everyone was on edge and you couldn’t blame them. There were at least six bodies, possibly more, and the unsub wasn’t likely to stop to stop anytime soon. He probably had another girl at this very moment and you shivered at the thought.

“All the files have been sent to your tablets, guys.” Garcia took a nervous breath. She was the worst when it came to hiding her emotions.

When you began analyzing the photos that had been sent to your tablet you wished you’d taken a sick day. It looked bad. The girls all had numerous cuts around their collar bones and arms and each one had been asphyxiated. They had multiple bruises around their bodies and by the look of the cuts you could tell that these girls suffered in their final moments. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t bring yourself to take another sip of your iced latte. What the unsub was doing was beyond horrible and it sickened you.

Tension clouded the office even more once the team realized that the victims also looked extremely similar to you, the youngest and newest member of the BAU. The girls could all be your sisters. Hotch stiffened and Garcia’s breath hitched. It didn’t take a genius to notice the similarities.

Reid was abnormally quiet in his chair and his lips were moving yet no sound escaped. He silently murmured to himself as he analyzed the files.

“Well...he’s uh definitely got a type,” Prentiss commented, “We only have a day or two until there’s another body.”

“Yeah,” JJ spoke flatly and shut off the projector. She turned to Hotch, waiting for his comment.

His gaze was serious as he quickly scanned the room. “Wheels up in thirty. We don’t have much time.”


	2. Two and a Third

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The BAU is working the case with little leads when Reid finally makes a breakthrough but it might be too late

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spencer Reid x BAUfem! Reader
> 
> Category: Angst?
> 
> TW: mentions of murder/assault/asphyxiation/sexual assault (not to the reader or main characters - it’s for a case), mentions of drugs, alcohol use
> 
> Note: Hello hello! I’m so excited to continue this series!! Thanks for all the support on part 1!

**_"Dark energy is incredibly strange, but actually it makes sense to me that it went unnoticed, because dark energy has no effect on daily life, or even inside our solar system." - Adam Riess_ **

It was day three in Livingston, Montana and the case was proving to be quite difficult. With barely any leads besides following what victimology could tell, the team had essentially nothing. Each of the girls were socialites and their paths crossed in more than one way so the team hadn’t been able to make a definite link. 

It wasn’t until the unsub made a mistake that the team finally got a break. 

The unsub’s abduction site was confirmed to be one of the clubs in town. It took some time, but the team was able to make the connection when a girl with a similar appearance to the victims almost became one. The girl had told police that a man cockily approached her thinking she was alone. 

Her friend was in the restroom at the time when the unsub started making moves. Initially, she had thought he was quite charming, but his extremely aggressive demeanor proved to be a red flag. Turning him down a couple times wasn’t working and she said that he began to get handsy; however, the unsub quickly retreated once her friend returned from the bathroom.

If it wasn’t for the press conference JJ held thirty minutes prior, she said she probably would’ve brushed something like this off but her gut told her to call the tip line. The only downside was that the girl had been too drunk to give an accurate account of his appearance.

So, with Garcia’s help, the team retrieved security footage to analyze. The tip was crucial towards the investigation but with no hard evidence, all the BAU could do was wait. The quality of the cameras in the club weren’t anywhere near useful and there were only three in total: front entrance, bar, and main floor. It wasn’t much but at least it was something. 

The team had been going over the history of the club when you’d proposed an idea.

“No. Absolutely not,” Hotch spoke flatly. “I will not allow you to put yourself in that situation, Y/n, end of story.”

“Hotch, it’s the only way we’ll be able to ID him. Look, I promise I’ll stay inside  _ and  _ in range of the cameras. If I can get a good look at his face, maybe snag his name we could finally track this guy.”

Morgan’s head tilted in defeat. “L/n’s got a point. I hate to say it but we have  _ nothing,  _ Hotch.”

Hotch stood with his arms crossed, staring at the carpet of Livingston’s PD, a scowl on his face.

Prentiss let out a sigh, “We could have a couple of us go in undercover, have backup posted outside. That way she wouldn’t have to go in alone?” Her eyes were hopeful when Hotch finally looked up.

“That’s better than L/n going in without backup,” he replied with a nod.

“No.” Reid interrupted abruptly. “No, it won’t work.” His voice was small and feeble. “Our unsub has been following the investigation and each and every one of us was present behind JJ during the press conference, all except Y/n. He-He’ll see us coming…”

Reid hated to admit it but he knew he was right. The unsub had paid extreme attention to detail. He was organized, efficient. It  _ was  _ possible he already knew you were linked to the BAU but it wasn’t likely since you’d spent most of the time at the station interviewing the victim’s families and helping Reid sort through old files.

Normally, it would annoy Spencer when someone was constantly over his shoulder during cases. Of course, he knew that the BAU worked as a team and that extra insight could be helpful at times, but, more times than not, he liked to work alone. That was until he met you. The first time you stepped into the BAU, Reid was interested to say the least. He wasn’t unprepared though; he’d read Hotch’s email, done a quick google search...maybe asked Garcia to dig up some files. He’d come up with a basic profile and Reid thought he knew the baseline of your character. But, what records and files don’t always reveal are auras, energy, what someone’s soul is like. When he finally got a chance to work with you he came to learn about an entirely different side of you, a side no file could record, and Reid found himself actually  _ enjoying _ your presence. 

The way you worked was efficient and Spencer had always noticed it. You stayed organized in chaos, knew exactly what to say to keep families from panic, and your hostage negotiation skills were damn near flawless. You were good at your job and he couldn’t help but admire you. Your profiling skills have matched those of the team since day one and it was evident that you were a crucial asset to the BAU.

Reid didn’t just notice your intelligence though. Spencer stole glances when you refilled your coffee or when your face was buried in a file; he took mental notes on what you liked and what you didn’t. Spencer knew your body language to a t, knew your vocal patterns, your expressions. If you mentioned a film he hadn’t seen, he promised himself he’d make the time to watch it - and watch it again just to make sure he was able to fully grasp what you liked about it. If you quoted a poem, a book, or even a song lyric, Reid would notice. On a jet ride home one night when you’d fallen asleep with earbuds in, Reid had leaned in just a little closer to figure out what song you were playing so he could analyze the note patterns, the deeper meaning. Spencer knew his behavior wasn’t normal, maybe it was borderline obsessive but he just couldn’t help it. He liked you and he was just curious about figuring you out. No detail about you, no matter how small, was deemed unimportant.

However, Spencer promised himself that he would never cross the line. He always respected your boundaries and he never pushed you into doing or saying anything you didn’t want to. He’d seen enough evil in the world to know what not to do. He was thoughtful, careful, calculated.

Reid knew you were aware of some of his feelings but he wasn’t sure if you knew how deep they were rooted. You were close with everyone on the team but the closest with Reid. The night at the diner planted a seed of friendship and by now it had undoubtedly grown into something more.

Your bond was strong, both professionally and platonically. Even Hotch had noticed how well you two fit together and had started pairing you on cases. Whether it was police stations or crime scenes, the jet or the bullpen, you and Reid worked better together than alone.

This case was no different. For the majority of the time you were at the station with Spencer while the rest of the team was checking out possible leads. You would’ve been present at the press conference too if it hadn’t been for Blythe Abram’s parents. They were already hysterical the second they stepped into the station, screaming at JJ and Hotch. It was understandable; they’d lost their only daughter and were furious that the BAU hadn’t caught the man that took her life yet. You had stayed behind to help comfort them.

That was another thing Reid noticed about you. You were patient when no one else was.

“Spencer’s right.” Rossi spoke and Reid was pulled back into reality. “We can’t send the team in, he’ll know it’s us.”

“Y/n looks exactly like the victims and as much as I hate to say it out loud, I know we’ve all noticed it.” JJ admitted. “She may be our best chance.”

Prentiss crossed her arms, turning her attention to the team. “Don’t you think our unsub will assume that girl called the tip line? If this guy is following the investigation, which he has been, I think he’d be careful enough to lay low.”

Rossi spoke next, walking over to the map pinned on the wall with all the possible connections. “This guy is calculated, smart, and yes, Prentiss, he has been keeping an eye on us... _ but  _ the girl who called the tip line was drunk out of her mind. We know he’s cocky, arrogant. He’ll assume he’s in the clear.”

“Rossi’s right, and he’s also getting antsy. He’s used to taking two girls a week and the one he had his eyes on slipped away. He’ll still be at the club,” Hotch stated firmly. “And...I don’t think he’ll be able to resit Y/n….her appearance is too similar.”

And with that, Morgan speed dialed Garcia to check the security footage again to see if the unsub had left the club. A few moments and a “thank you, doll face” later, Penelope confirmed that the unsub was still, in fact, at the club.

Everything past that phone call was a blur. It had all happened so fast. The hurried ride over to the hotel to change, the drive to the club, the mics, the hidden gun in your bag. You’d gone undercover before but this particular case was different and you were  _ nervous.  _ This unsub, like all unsubs, was dangerous and vicious. He’d killed six women, maybe more, and you were about to step into his hunting grounds alone and talk face to face with him. Lamb to lion. You’d probably even have to flirt if you were going to get any information out of him.

When the team was parked a block away from the club, Hotch turned to directly face you from the driver’s seat, his eyebrows creased with serious concern. “Y/n, are you sure about going in alone? You don’t have to do this.”

This was the first moment of time that didn’t seem sped up since you’d left the police station. “If it means we can ID our unsub and save more lives, then yes absolutely.” You had never been more sure of yourself.

Hotch nodded. “Remember, you’re mic’d so we’ll be able to hear everything you or the unsub says. Stay in range of the cameras and do  _ not  _ leave the building until one of us comes to get you at the bar. There’s an SUV covering the back entrance, one in the front, and Garcia’s on cams.”

You took a deep breath and adjusted your dress, checking to make sure everything was in place. Your purse, which was nestled securely under your arm, had enough room to conceal a small gun.

“I’m ready.”

-

Only twenty minutes had passed since you’d walked into the club alone and Spencer was getting anxious. Although local PD had all the backup in the world posted inconspicuously outside, Garcia watching cams, and the BAU listening in from the SUVs, Reid was  _ still  _ nervous. 

There were multiple cases where Prentiss or JJ posed undercover and they came out unharmed. It wasn’t that he doubted your ability at all. Spencer trusted your skillset and he had all the evidence to prove how effective you were in the field. From a logical standpoint, he knew his worries were irrational and that he only had them because he cared about you in a more than average fashion. It would take less than thirty seconds for SWAT to infiltrate the club if it came down to it. The exits and entrances were guarded and Hotch made sure there were extra squad cars placed around the block if the unsub were to run.

The plan was simple. Get in, get a name, get a face, get out.

But not every plan worked and Spencer knew that.

The team knew so little about the unsub that Reid had let his anxieties weave into his head. A thousand “what ifs” had crocheted their way into Spencer’s mind and at the rate the threads were moving, his brain would produce a blanket a minute. 

The team knew that the unsub was a white male in his late twenties to early thirties, and that he was calculated and highly efficient. He was watching the press and the news and was likely up to speed on the ins and outs of the police department. He escalated from abducting one girl per month to two girls a week. The victims he chose were all female in their early twenties, all y/h/c, and all were active members in the community of Livingston, Montana. Each of the girls he abducted were held for at least thirty six hours and for whatever reason, they were then discarded near the forest. The unsub’s signature included specific cuts on the collar bones and arms and the cause of death was always suffocation. Traces of date rape drugs had been present in two of six victims. The unsub staged each of his victims and his M.O was sexual. He left typed notes for the police and his crimes had gone unnoticed until then.

Spencer retraced the steps of the investigation in his mind. Even with all the information the BAU had on the guy, the suspect pool was still large. Reid trusted the profile. He had to.

But profiles weren’t facts.

Reid’s mind worked in curious ways. His 187 IQ was arguably the most valued asset the BAU had next to Garcia’s data expertise and right now, in the heat of it all, he had a feeling that the team was missing something.

Spencer was posted in an SUV covering the front entrance a couple cars down with Prentiss and Rossi while Hotch, Morgan, and JJ covered the back exit. From the van, the team couldn’t see much of the club’s entrance. All that was really visible was the bouncer. 

“What is it, Reid?” Prentiss questioned, noticing that Spencer was visibly frustrated in the backseat. He tilted his head upwards, eyes unfocused and narrow.

“Emily, when you were undercover in Manhattan a few weeks ago you did everything you could to pose as an average partier right? Wearing a dress, doing your makeup a specific way?” He spoke fast.

“Yeah. I did my best to look like I was just another girl at the bar. What’s on your mind?”

“So you did anything and everything to look like you belonged there, right? Like you  _ chose  _ to be there?” Prentiss shared a confused look with Rossi as Spencer’s mind was racing. “Did you order a drink, Emily? To blend in?”

“I uh, I asked the bartender for a virgin vodka soda. Reid, what-”

“There were traces of rohypnol present in some of the victims.”

Spencer’s statement threw Prentiss off. “Well, yeah but Y/n knows not to take drinks from anyone and if she had a drink she’d be guarding it.”

“It takes less than thirty minutes for rohypnol to take effect assuming an average dose. Y/n’s been inside for twenty five. What if the unsub isn’t the one who’s drugging the girls?”

Rossi finally spoke up. “You think he has a  _ partner? _ Reid, we didn’t profile that. We’re certain this guy is working alone, I mean look at the evidence. He-”

Reid wasn’t listening. All he could focus on the possibility that the unsub _might_ have \- no, most _definitely_ \- has a partner. How else would the unsub have such extensive knowledge on the investigation? With as often as the press and news pushed information out, there was no way he could be keeping up _and_ abducting girls all on his own. There was _one_ killer but _two_ partners.

“The-the girl at the station, Trista, the one who called the tip line, she wasn’t drunk she was  _ drugged _ .”

Reid frantically pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Garcia. “Tech goddess speaking what c-”

“Garcia, I need you to pull Trista Cameron’s purchase history tonight at the club. How many drinks did she buy?”

“Oh geez, slow down Reid. Uh...she bought two shots...and she ordered two margaritas.” 

“That’s one shot and one margarita for her friend, same for her. There’s two ounces of tequila in a margarita...standard drink is one and half ounces of hard liquor placing Trista at two and a third standard drinks. There’s no way she was drunk unless someone else bought her something. Garcia, check Lily Jone’s history, her friend.” 

“Okay….uh nothing. Trista bought all the drinks.”

“Alright. Review the footage from 5:23pm until around 6:15. Can you confirm that she only drank what she ordered?”

“Yeah. Trista and Lily each took a shot upon arrival...and then they got the margaritas right after.”

  
Reid hung up the phone and his heart rate increased as his anxieties became reality. “The bartender is the partner and he’s drugging the drinks. We need to get her out of there  _ now _ .”


	3. Shallow Pulse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Spencer realizes that the unsub might be having some extra help, the BAU rush to aid the reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spencer Reid x BAUfem! Reader
> 
> Category: angst, anxietyyyyy
> 
> TW: very anxious and worry-some mental states, reader being drugged
> 
> Note: Hey everyone! So sorry this took a while to publish. School has been difficult this week and those assignments came first. Also, don’t worry! After this chapter I promise there will be more a lot more fluff <3 thanks for reading!

_**"Upon scanning the sky, you don't really know when one color turns into another hue. And that's sort of how I fell for you. No definitive line or moment, just a slow blend of time inked by the earth's unexplainable." - Karl Kristian Flores** _

It had been twenty five minutes since you’d entered the bar alone. You were focused and determined and it was  _ supposed  _ to be easy. Get in, get a name, get a face, get out. That was the plan but now a headache pounded on the surface of your forehead and the club suddenly felt ten degrees hotter. Something was definitely wrong. 

The second you’d entered the bar you’d purposefully made yourself an easy target. That meant staying alone and away from the crowd, trying your best to look oblivious and unaware. You’d even ordered a drink to blend in. Going in, you thought it would only be a minute or so before the unsub would approach. Even though the bar was packed with people, it had been easy to tell who the unsub was. He was lurking in a corner and it didn’t take long for him to notice you. He was desperate to get his next victim, so at first it confused you as to why he kept to himself in the corner but you realized he took pleasure in observing. 

The unsub was a hunter and you were posing as perfect prey. The thought of all the other girls before you standing in a position similar to yours sent shivers down your spine. The team profiled that the unsub enjoyed the catch especially since he held each girl for at least thirty six hours. Stalking his prey was part of the experience. He liked to observe the girls’ body language to establish a baseline. He gets off on fear and to him, being able to see the physical, as well as emotional, state change from  _ his  _ actions was exciting.

The unsub was beyond sadistic and the behavior of the man in the corner fit just that. You only took a few glances here and there but you knew it was him. It was difficult to make out all his facial features but when a light flashed on his face every now and then you noticed he had a scar across his cheek. Although the club was packed with people and your line of sight wasn’t always clear, you could feel his gaze boring into the back of your head, roaming all over your body. It was uncomfortable. Even though you technically had no proof that the man in the corner was the unsub, your gut told you so.

Photos of each crime scene slid into your mind while you were waiting. If you weren’t careful, you could be next. You took a deep breath and tried to reassure yourself that everything was going to be okay. A SWAT team was outside. So was Hotch, JJ, Morgan, Prentiss, Rossi, Reid… 

One of the club lights caught your eye by surprise and sent a searing pain straight into your brain, reminding you of your headache. The world was getting a little fuzzy and it was getting fuzzy  _ fast. _

You grabbed onto the bar’s ledge for support in an attempt to stabilize yourself. Your drink had been drugged and it was easy to deduce who did it. The second you’d received it, you’d been careful to watch for offenders since you knew some of the girls had been drugged. Traces of rohypnol had been present according to the M.E’s reports and you weren’t about to let the unsub pop powder into your drink. But, looking back, you were positive that no one had even come close to your glass. The drug had to have come from the source. You’d made small talk with other partiers at the bar and they definitely weren’t the type to drug a drink. It  _ had  _ to be the bartender...or someone in the back maybe? 

Either way, there was no doubt in your mind that something was off. There was no way that you were drunk. Alcohol doesn’t facilitate a dissociated mental state this fast. You’d been drugged and you needed to tell Hotch  _ now  _ before something happened.

“Hotch, I uh-I…” your sentences were fragmented and it took every effort to not collapse at the bar. You tried your best to whisper into the mic that was hidden just under your dress but your speech was slow and slurred. You were in no state to continue your mission undercover but at least you knew the bartender was in on the abductions. Maybe if the team got inside quick enough they’d be able to arrest him and interrogate him, maybe even get to the unsub in the corner.

The music that was raging on the dance floor spun around your eardrums, squeezing tight while the multicolored lights smeared across the surface of your eyelids. It was unbearable.

“My-my….drink…” You whispered into the mic, propping your head up with one hand. You desperately tried to wipe the fog from your gaze but it was useless. The effects of the rohypnol had already advanced.

Even under the influence of the drug, you still managed to find a way to belittle yourself. You felt  _ stupid.  _ You had one simple job to do and you’d managed to screw it up. Hell, you should’ve just gone over to the unsub and shook his hand. You’d seen where he was sitting, saw him staring at you. But you clung to the comfort of a barstool, lazily sipping your drink, waiting for him to approach you. He never did.

You squinted as you turned your head towards the corner he previously occupied but he was nowhere to be seen. All that was left was the shadows. 

You almost didn’t notice when a hand slipped over your shoulder. It was JJ, no Emily. It was Emily who approached you at the bar. “Y/n, hey, it’s Emily. You’ve been drugged,” her voice was soft but worrisome, “An ambulance is on its way, alright? Can you stand?” Her touch was gentle and steadying but it did nothing to help how dazed you felt.

_ ‘How did you get here so fast?’  _ you questioned in your head. It felt like it had only been a second since you’d alerted Hotch and the team. Whatever the reason, at least the team was here now. You desperately wanted to tell Emily that the guy in the corner was the unsub and he’d somehow managed to escape the dance floor, but it was no use. The effects were hitting hard and fast.

“Y/n? Are you hearing me?” Emily pressed again, brushing a lock of hair away from your face to examine your expression. Her eyes were wide and filled with concern. She turned her attention elsewhere for a moment and you could’ve sworn she was talking to Reid. You thought you felt a pair of fingers on your neck taking a pulse but it was too difficult to tell.

You’d heard Em’s words but you had no idea how to respond. Moving was almost useless and it took every muscle in your body to turn your neck towards her. By this point your breaths were shallow and the only thing you craved was sleep. Letting go would be so much easier than trying to stay awake. It was straining and took too much energy. The world was moving faster than your brain could process. 

In the background, you thought you heard the thuds of heavy boots and tactical gear next to the groans of upset partiers. It must’ve been SWAT but you weren’t sure. When you tried to lift your head up the pain just increased. It was only when your forehead paralleled the ground that provided a small shred of relief so you kept your head buried into your arms.

A couple more sentences came from Prentiss but at this point, you couldn’t figure out what she was saying. All you heard was your heartbeat and all you could feel was the cool surface of the bartop pressed against your forehead. It smelled faintly of bleach and cheap vodka. It wasn’t the best of smells but that was the least of your concerns. 

Prentiss was still talking and you finally noticed there was another pair of shoes next to Emily’s.  _ ‘Has he been there this whole time?’  _ you thought with your head still pressed firmly between your arms on the counter. The unmistakable shoes belonged to Spencer Reid; he was the only one who wore converse. ‘ _ Fuck, no no you can’t-can’t see me like this’  _ you mentally whined, hoping he’d go help the team in some other way. In the state you were in you were no help whatsoever. If anything, you were probably a problem.

Your world was getting darker, cloudier, and you weren’t sure if you would be able to stay awake for much longer.

-

By the time Reid dialed Hotch, Hotch had already sent SWAT to secure the perimeter just moments before. By observing your breathing pattern, he had a feeling that something was going downhill but he wasn’t sure if you’d been acting or not to draw the unsub closer. The second you had whispered a string of slurred words confirmed the former and Hotch yelled orders in an instant.

Along with Prentiss and Rossi, Reid was in one of the SUVs that was covering the front entrance while JJ, Hotch, and Morgan were in the back. Spencer and Prentiss were the first to enter the club just behind the SWAT team and it didn’t take long to send the club into a panic. It’s not fun when one second you’re drunk and having a blast dancing, then all of a sudden you see a blurry police force in full tactical gear shouting and yelling. 

After securing the perimeter, it was Prentiss who approached you at the bar first, Reid following closely behind. His breath hitched when he saw you all dazed and confused, unable to form a proper sentence from where you were slouched on the counter. Hotch, and Morgan had already found the bartender in a back supply room while JJ had started asking witnesses questions while keeping the media at bay. It wasn’t going over too well since most of the partiers were one: too focused on themselves to notice anything, and two: were blackout drunk. Rossi was on the phone with first responders and Prentiss was close to your side making sure you stayed conscious for as long as possible. 

Everyone was following protocol to a t, all except for Reid who felt frozen in place. He was positive he wasn’t much help right now and he desperately wanted to be but he just  _ couldn’t.  _ Normally, Spencer would be doing everything possible. He’d be looking around the scene, making mental notes of the placement of furniture, who was there, the types of clothes people were wearing, their attitudes, their micro-expressions….the list goes on. Reid would be cross referencing his knowledge and experiences with whatever he was taking in at the scene. No piece of information was too small and his eidetic memory allowed for precise detail. Then, after analyzing the scene at godspeed, he’d be calling Garcia to verify a theory, because now, seven minutes have passed since arrival and he usually had a working hypothesis. But now, in this moment, all he had done was stand still as police and SWAT moved around him.

Spencer was fixed in his converse, his demeanor silent. On the outside looking in, one would assume he’d entered a state of shock or maybe even seen a ghost.

Reid always found it interesting how in every case involving strangers he ran completely on autopilot, flying without the slightest error, but when it came to people he knew, he was useless and his plane always crashed. Members of the BAU rarely got hurt during cases but it still happened. Pretty much everyone had been shot or grazed at least once; Morgan often ended a case with a couple punches thrown. It was just part of the job and Reid knew that but it was still difficult especially for him. Even if he wasn’t the one under attack, the anxiety still found its way into his chest. No matter how hard he tried, personal cases always got the better of him. Although Reid wasn’t the type to be outwardly affectionate, he still had bottles of emotions rattling around in his pantry and when someone he cared for was caught in the middle of the crossfire, those jars cracked. 

“Reid,” Prentiss called. It was the second time she’d said his name but he hadn’t acknowledged her. His fixed gaze slowly moved and he shook some of the frost off his figure. If he was going to be any help at all he had to at least try to push his anxieties aside. 

Spencer narrowed his eyes, taking a hesitant step closer to where you were slung over the bar. He couldn’t see your face since it was buried in your forearms but the sight of you in pain still broke him. Emily was carefully holding up a napkin with a glove. It was partially soaked in alcohol but the square tissue had some writing on it.

When Emily held it up for Spencer to read he felt a flame crawl up his throat.

It read:  _ You think I don’t know she’s an agent? _

“He knew,” Prentiss sighed, “He knew this whole time. That sadistic son of a bitch just watched her.”

Emily tried to ask you if you remembered who gave you the napkin but at this point, you were slipping in and out of consciousness. “Y/n, stay with me,” she turned to Rossi, silently asking when the ambulance was arriving. Luckily, it was thirty seconds away. “Don’t go to sleep yet, I know it’s hard but you gotta hold on.”

Spencer was still quiet. He hadn’t said a word since he’d hung up the phone with Hotch. He didn’t know if he  _ could _ say anything. 

Judging by your state and observing the rise of your chest, Spencer knew your breathing was becoming shallow. Your muscles were relaxed and he knew that your ability to form new memories was pretty much nonexistent. Your slurred and broken speech indicated that you were beyond intoxicated. He placed two shaky fingers on your neck, checking your pulse and hovered a finger under your nose to see if you were breathing. It was soft, but it was there. You were still alive.

That should’ve reassured him but he knew that if you didn’t get to a hospital soon, you’d slip away forever. The drink at your side was half empty and he was betting that if you’d drank the whole thing you’d already be too far gone.

Like _gone_ _gone._

That very thought shook his bones. The thought of losing you was unsettling to say the least. He knew it was selfish but he loved having you around because you made him feel safe. Out of everyone on the team, you’d taken the most time to get to know him and you’d only been there for a year. There were so many other reasons that Spencer could list but right now, he willed himself to focus on the present. He had to but he couldn’t.

It took everything out of Spencer to remove his fingers from your neck to let the paramedics do their job. Reid wasn’t one who enjoyed touch - in fact he didn’t particularly like skin to skin contact. Spencer actively avoided handshakes and he was hyper aware of his body at all times. It wasn’t that he didn’t  _ enjoy  _ touch; there were times when his skin craved it and he recognized that. He just hadn’t found anyone who he’d want to touch more than once. Something as simple as a high five was enough to annoy him and he honestly couldn’t explain it. Whether it was platonic or intimate, Spencer pretty much dodged all contact. Maybe it was an issue with trust or maybe it was something deeper, but Spencer tried to avoid going down that rabbit hole. At this point in his life he accepted his differences and moved on.

As cliche as he knew it was, there was something about you that changed his entire thought process. It was silly, honestly, to let someone rearrange your entire solar system like the way he’d let you. Working with you had thrown Reid out of orbit and he’d rethought his entire existence. For once in his life he’d allowed himself to be vulnerable. And now, remembering the times he’d actually  _ liked  _ being touched was only with you.

The first time Spencer broke the touch barrier was on accident. It was an early September morning and he was distributing the case files to everyone in the conference room. For the most part, he’d just slid the files across the table but as you were next to him, he’d handed the file to you directly. When you reached out to grab it, your fingers brushed for a fraction of a second. As simple as it was, Reid caught himself thinking back time and time again. At first, it confused him as to why his brain hyper fixated on that moment, but he’d come to the conclusion that it was just a moment he enjoyed.

The next time you and Spencer had made contact wasn’t by accident. After a particularly draining case in Indiana, the team was trying to cheer up on the jet home by telling stories. You occupied the window seat while Spencer was on your left. Reid was flexing his 187 IQ a bit too much by rambling on about strategic product placement in grocery stores and you had playful shoved his shoulder.

There were other times the barrier had been broken but those had all been positive. They definitely weren’t when you had been drugged and Spencer’s touch was for the sole purpose of checking to see if you were still  _ breathing.  _ But that was the case now and it destroyed Reid to remove his fingers because it might be the last time he’d get to feel you alive.

Spencer never wanted to touch someone  _ more _ . In this moment all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around you. He _ wanted  _ to carry the weight of your responsibilities, your fears, your worries. He  _ wanted  _ to comfort you, to feel your heartbeat pressed against his. But right now all he could do was stand by. He had no idea how much rohypnol was in the drink you’d ordered and it was beginning to panic him. 

When the paramedics finally were wheeling you into the ambulance Spencer should have felt relieved. Instead, he was more nervous. A thousand “what ifs” trampled his brain and, once again, anxiety leeched onto his every thought. What if the unsub found a way to breach the police force and escape? Even though there wasn’t enough evidence for an arrest, what if he got away? Would he stop killing just to keep the city in fear? What if the drink had more than just rohypnol? What if you didn’t get a good look at the unsub and this had all been for nothing? What if you didn’t make it? 

Spencer knew his eidetic memory was more useful at the crime scene than in the back of an ambulance but he also knew that if he stayed behind, he would just cause more harm than good. It was selfish and Reid knew his emotions were controlling him yet, he couldn’t override them. 

One desperate glance at Hotch told him all he needed to know. “Go,” Hotch ordered, “We’ll be fine.”

Even if Hotch had ordered him to stay at the scene Spencer knew he would’ve defied him anyways. This was a time when protocol didn’t matter.

On the way to the hospital Reid had given the paramedics your medical history. He’d gotten the information the day Hotch had sent an email explaining that there was going to be a new team member added into the BAU. Spencer asked Garcia to do some digging and when the two of them were mischievously lurking in her batcave, he couldn’t help but read whatever popped up on the screen.

The ride to the hospital was quick. It only took three minutes and Reid was silently grateful that the streets were basically empty this time of night. After the ride, it only took a few more minutes for nurses and doctors to get you settled into a room.

“She’s going to be alright, agent,” one of the doctors finally told Spencer, “She’s lucky.”

“When will she wake up?” he questioned from the seat next to your bed. Compared to earlier, your breathing was steady and Reid noticed the strain in your forehead disappear.

“Within the hour,” the doctor smiled and exited the room, leaving you and Spencer alone.

Spencer ran both of his hands through his hair, gripping at the roots. It was the first time Spencer let himself really breathe since he figured out that the bartender was drugging drinks. Relief washed the remaining frost from his shoulders and Reid was finally able to slow down his thinking.

You were going to be okay.


	4. New Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After you wake up in the hospital, you try your best to get back on the case as soon as possible but you can’t avoid the trauma for long

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spencer Reid x BAUfem! Reader
> 
> Category: slow-burn, some angst? some fluff??
> 
> TW: mentions of being drugged, nervous mental states
> 
> Note: Woohoo! Part 4! This one’s long and I can’t wait to write the next part :)

_**"I can't promise to you that I can resolve all of this problem, but I can promise that you will not face them alone" - Jeremy Legend** _

“Yes, Spencer, you can have the jello,” you weakly smiled at Reid from your spot in the hospital bed, the gray sleeve of his sweater dangling a few feet from your face. He was not so stealthily abducting the plastic cup from your bedside table and he had to reach across your chest to do so.

Reid’s sleeve had been the first thing you saw when you woke up. Well, you’d technically noticed the hospital ceiling first but, besides the point. Hospitals were bright and you were pretty sure it was the lights that woke you, not Spencer’s attempt to steal jello. Even during the night, light reflected off the stark white walls and the consistent beeps of monitors didn’t contribute to a peaceful ambiance. You’d expect hospitals to be comfy but they were really just cold and sterile. As bleak and stiff as hospitals are, you were still very thankful to wake up in one, and even more thrilled to wake up to the sight of Spencer Reid. His hair was tousled and you caught a whiff of his cologne when he’d reached over your torso and the world was calm for a second.

But then you remembered what had happened earlier.

When you looked closer you could tell that his eyes were darker than usual and he was lacking rest. If you were to ask him he’d be sure to deny it, but the dark circles surrounding his eyes told you everything you needed to know. Spencer’s eyebrows darted up when he realized you were awake. “I uh, I didn’t think you’d mind,” he muttered, “You said once that you didn’t really like jello so…” Spencer’s voice was hesitant but gentle as he trailed his sentence. “How are you feeling?” His gaze couldn’t meet yours and instead he opted to analyze the jello he was prodding with a plastic spoon, standing next to the hospital bed.

You were tired and nauseous. “I’m alright,” you lied, sitting up. Your arms felt a little shaky. The movement caused the blanket to slip from your skin and the cool air of the hospital triggered goosebumps to rise.

Spencer lifted his head and finally met your eyes. “Are you sure?” he prodded.

You knew he was giving you a chance to redo your weak attempt at an answer but you didn’t want to burden him with your feelings. You hadn’t had a real chance to think about them alone yet and you weren’t about to start that process with Reid. Half the time you concluded that your feelings were irrational or that you’d just over thought whatever had happened. Spencer wasn’t your therapist and it wouldn’t be fair to clot his mind with your worries. He had an eidetic memory too so you weren’t about to brand a feeble image of yourself into it. The sight of you in a hospital bed was already enough.

You instinctively placed a hand behind your neck and you knew you had to give him some portion of the truth. He was too smart to deceive. “I’m pretty nauseous but I’ll be okay,” you admitted, playing with the tiny hairs along your hairline.

Reid carefully stirred the spoon around in the jello but avoided taking any bites. You could tell he was conflicted. “You’re lying…” he paused, “Your heart rate increased and you restrained yourself by rubbing the back of your neck. It’s a...it’s a telltale sign that you’re holding back.”

You silently cursed the heart monitor and it’s incriminating beeps. Spencer’s tone was in no way aggressive or hostile and you knew he was just concerned, but you didn’t want to get into this conversation so you took a deep breath. “No, you’re right Spence,” you spoke lightly, “I’m not fine but right now we need to focus on the case. Um, how long was I out for?” Maybe turning attention to the unsub would be enough to avoid your emotions, for now at least.

To your surprise he dropped it and answered your question. “We’ve been here for about two hours. Hotch and Rossi are talking to Kane right now. He’s the bartender,” Spencer clarified, “but they haven’t gotten much yet. He’s tough.” Reid set the cup of mangled jello down and folded his arms across his chest. His lips pursed inwards like they always did when he was thinking. 

Your heart rate spiked again, causing the monitor to waver. “Two hours? Spencer, you should be back at the station! Your mind is more useful there than here! I’m useless right now.” As much as you were thrilled to see him when you’d waken, you didn’t think you were out for two whole hours. That was a lot of time to be hanging around in a hospital with a time sensitive case like this.

Reid shook his head, “Y/n, I couldn’t-” he cut himself off, knitting his eyebrows together, and spoke with his hands. “I’ve been in contact with the team and you’re not useless right now. You’ve never been useless,” Reid defended.

“Spencer, I’m really grateful that you stayed with me - like seriously, you don’t know how much that means to me - but if you don’t do a cognitive interview right now I’m going to feel even more idiotic than I already do.” 

His head tilted sideways in confusion, “ _Idiotic?_ Y/n, you’re far from _idiotic_. You can’t blame yourself for what happened.” He already knew what you were thinking before you even said it.

Your eyes were beginning to sting and a lump formed in your throat. If the conversation continued you knew you’d cry but if you didn’t give him some insight into your mind it would only get worse. “I could’ve tarnished everyone’s reputation. I-”

“ _Tarnished everyone’s reputation?_ ” He mock quoted, “Y/n, that doesn’t matter. You did nothing wrong. What’s more concerning is the fact that you almost _died._ ” He was anxiously swaying where he stood, carefully darting his tongue to his lips in thought. 

“Spencer,” you unsteadily inhaled, pausing for a few moments to hold your tears in. “Please just interview me,” you pleaded, pushing the remaining blankets off your legs. “We can talk about this later, I promise, but right now there are girls whose lives are in danger.” You desperately wanted to get back to the station and you took Reid’s pause as an opportunity to quickly wipe your eyes, making sure no tears would escape.

Reid stalled, his mouth parted, until he finally replied. “Okay,” he conceded with a sigh, taking the cue of your body language to impede. And with that, Reid started the cognitive interview. 

In all honesty, the night was terrifying. The last thing you remembered was how eerily peaceful it felt to drift away on the cold countertop of the bar. There wasn’t anything you could do but rely on the team to get you to safety. You didn’t doubt them for a second and you knew you’d be alright in the end; it was yourself who you were disappointed in. It was _embarrassing._ The one job you had to do was lure the unsub over and you’d managed to compromise your life but more importantly the reputation of the BAU. The evening could’ve gone a lot worse if you’d taken a couple more sips. The doctors said you were lucky that you’d even gotten to the hospital in time.

Fortunately the team was able to keep the media away from the incident. If they hadn’t, you were positive you’d make headlines damaging not only your integrity, but the behavioral analysis unit’s credibility more than you already did. The news was relentless.

What was worse though, was that you’d let the unsub get away. As much as Reid reassured that there wasn’t any way the team could have foreseen what happened, you knew he was just trying to make you feel better. You _knew_ that some of the victims had rohypnol present in their systems. It was a risk to even take a drink in the first place. Somehow the tiniest things can comprise a case. Overlooking small details make or break catching an unsub. 

Even though pieces of the night were still blurry, you’d done your best to describe what you saw to Reid. The team had the bartender, who you learned was Leo Kane, and they were interrogating him this very second. It was only a matter of time before Kane cracked and the BAU had an address. Spencer had also analyzed the handwriting on the napkin earlier when you’d still been out, making notes of the graphology, which assisted the team to understand that the unsub was left handed. That coupled with your description of the unsub helped Garcia narrow down the list to five suspects.

In the grand scheme of things, the BAU would probably crack the case before sunrise and no one else would have to die. What happened at the bar wasn’t anywhere near ideal, but the physical description of the unsub helped tremendously. You feared a conversation with Hotch or Strauss about your actions was in the near future but right now, all you needed to focus on was recovering enough to get back on the case.

A couple convincing sentences to the doctor and a flash of your badge later, you found yourself in the passenger seat of one of the SUVs with Reid in the driver’s. By the time Spencer had driven the two of you back to Livingston PD, your nausea had completely disappeared and only your anxiety affected you. It was likely your nerves and anticipation were masking the remaining side effects of the rohypnol. You weren’t looking forward to the aftermath of the storm when you’d finally have to give your body full attention. But, being as you had a case to solve, you weren’t complaining.

You knew that adrenaline masked pain and, after Reid’s correction, you learned that adrenaline actually just diverts one’s concentration so the pain seems less prevalent. For the first time since you’d woken up, Reid’s rambling lectures were the only thing that had truly distracted you from the night. Maybe it was just your brain trying to keep up with new information or maybe you were just preoccupied by the inflections of his voice, but Spencer had a knack for calming you down. It was in the weirdest way too. He could be comparing the narratives of two books you’ve never read and it would still be the most hypnotizing thing. You often found yourself asking him to talk about something just to fill the silence. He swore you were the only one on the team who’d willingly listen to his discourse.

The second you walked into the conference room you saw a wave of relief wash over the team. It was in their eyes. JJ’s glistened and Prentiss’ softened. Rossi’s crinkled, Morgan’s narrowed as he smiled, and Hotch’s broke posture for a second. It was clear that the team was glad you were safe and you nodded in acknowledgement. They got you up to speed on everything you missed in no time.

You’d arrived just before Hotch and Rossi were about to show Kane photos of the five suspects.

Garcia was able to narrow the list down to five, thanks to your description, and JJ suggested the team show headshots to Kane and judge his reaction. The moment Hotch had pushed the photos forward, it was obvious that Leo recognized one and you finally got to assign a name to the unsub: Shawn Miller. 

It had been less than five minutes back at the police department when the team got an address from Garcia and the turnaround was quick. In a matter of minutes you were back in a squad car and on a group call with Penelope as she dished out background info on the unsub. 

The team was headed to a ranch a couple miles out from the town. It was isolated, as the team had profiled, and far enough from civilization that screams wouldn’t be heard but close enough that the unsub could still be a functioning member of society.

If you didn’t have knowledge of the unspeakable things that happened in the house, you would’ve thought the ranch was calendar worthy. There was a nice picket fence, big pine trees, and a wide winding dirt road that led to the two story home. Even though it was dark you could still tell the ranch was high end. Garcia uncovered that the home had been in the Miller family for generations and it was clear that the family had taken care of the property over the years. Shawn’s parents had passed, so now it was just him and it had been for a while.

Shivers rushed down your spine like tiny spiders. Miller had taken the lives of six girls here and there might be another in the house at this very second. As the team pulled into the driveway you prayed that you’d be able to put the man away without damaging another life.

Raiding the house was quick mainly because the BAU worked together so seamlessly. The team knew each other so well that, at this point, everyone was in sync right down to footsteps; it was effortless. A few “clears” later and the first floor was accounted for. A muffled cry from the basement led the team to Miller’s whereabouts. With only a lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, it wasn’t that bright, and you had to rely on the beam of your flashlight to see where you were going. The floor was made of concrete and it was clear that Shawn had made multiple custom alterations to home his hostages. As the team stealthily glided around the floor, it was Hotch who’d discovered the unsub first while JJ and Rossi helped the Jane Doe that Miller had captive in a corner. To your surprise, the unsub was sitting in an old orange velvet recliner towards the back of the basement, feet up and arms relaxed without a care in the world.

It definitely didn’t fit the profile. He’d been meticulous up to this point so his behavior led you to believe this was his endgame. 

“Shawn Miller, FBI, hands where I can see them,” Hotch’s voice boomed. He took a few steps towards Miller and you followed closely behind, gun drawn.

Miller shook his head and laughed. “Can’t you see I’m unarmed here, agents?” He wasn’t lying. The burly man didn’t seem fazed that an entire team of FBI agents had infiltrated his home. It was as if he was expecting it. “See you found Jasmine over there,” he smiled, noticing that Rossi and JJ were attending to the girl. She was clearly injured but alive at least.

In this light you could see Shawn’s face and it matched the man’s at the club. He had sandy hair with an unkempt beard and the flannel jacket he was wearing looked like it had seen better days. This was definitely the unsub but he wasn’t acting like the profile one bit.

“You gonna arrest me yet?” He grumbled, tapping his foot on the recliner.

Hotch’s eyes narrowed and he clicked his flashlight off, “You’ve tried so hard to stay hidden until now, why?”

“Got tired,” Miller yawned, the recliner creaking, “Had one too many, decided to kick back and relax.”

“You’re not drunk, Shawn,” Hotch replied coldly, taking another hesitant step towards him.

“Just because you don’ see a bottle don’ mean I’m not drinkin’,” he said. In your gut, you knew this behavior was weird. It was like his personality had done a complete 180. It was the same man at the club appearance wise but not mentally. You could tell Hotch had noticed it to; somehow he’d become visibly stiffer and you didn’t think that was possible until now. His shoulders rose a fraction and his arms were frozen: gun aimed directly at Miller.

“Get up. Slowly,” he demanded, voice unwavering.

Miller ignored Hotch and instead turned to focus on you. He smirked and roamed his eyes across your body just as he did at the club. You felt the same uneasy feeling as you did a few hours prior. “How ya feelin’, sweetheart? Didn’t expect you to be up and runnin’ so soon.”

You scoffed but stayed silent. You weren’t about to give him the satisfaction he craved, not now. Hotch was the one who spoke instead. “Alright, get up, we’re finished here.”

“Only if _she’s_ the one to handcuff me.”

“I bet you’d like that, Shawn, but unfortunately for you, you’ll have to settle for me,” Morgan interjected as he made his way over towards where Hotch and you stood. One glance over at Hotch and the two of them forced Miller into handcuffs; he didn’t object. It wasn’t soon after that his face disappeared in the back of a police car.

Something about his body language was unsettling. Up until now he had been careful not to get caught but the profile said he’d want to eventually; you just didn’t expect it to be now. What were all the notes for if there wouldn’t be a name tied to them? You’d just assumed he’d wait a little longer, maybe to rack up a higher victim count especially since he’d escalated from killing once a month to twice a week. Why stop now? A lifelong sentence behind bars isn’t ideal but the promise of fame, even with negative attachment, poisons minds. As obsessed as Miller was with getting attention, it was only a matter of time before he’d be too ravenous for a headline and he’d want to get caught.

Your headache interrupted your thoughts once you were back in the SUV. After a few minutes of silence, Rossi finally interrupted your lifeless gaze out the window. It was just the two of you in the car this time.

“Alright, what’s on your mind?” Rossi asked with a sigh. “I know that look. You get all…” he trailed, searching for a word, “spacey,” he finished, satisfied with his deduction.

You chuckled and turned to face him from the passenger seat. He had two hands draped loosely on the wheel. “It was too easy,” you admitted. “His behavior, the way he was dressed. He didn’t even try to stop us. It was like he knew we were coming.”

Rossi took a deep breath and slowly shook his head in thought. “I noticed that too but you gotta realize he’s behind bars now. I’ve had my fair share of overthinking cases and in times like these, you have to let it go.”

“Yeah, but why would he want to get caught like this? No big show, no fight? What if he knows something we don’t?” The thought pounded at the front of your mind.

“You’ll drive yourself crazy if you let your head go there, kid,” his expression softened, “We’ll get everything we can on him when we interview him.”

You were staring out the window into the dark abyss of Montana. “I guess you’re right.”

“I know I’m right,” Rossi spoke, gently slowing down for a red light. “Now, enough about this guy. How are _you_ doing?” He seemed genuinely interested.

“I’m alright,” you lied, avoiding his eyes. You opted to aimlessly focus on the license plate of the SUV Hotch was driving in front of you.

“I’m alright, _my ass,_ ” Rossi mocked. He turned his head even more towards you, signaling he knew you weren’t being truthful. He was probably one of the most perceptive people when it came to emotions - though he often hung in the shadows with his inner thoughts.

The light turned green. “Okay fine, I could really use a nap right now,” you admitted, loosening your stiff demeanor.

“I bet,” he exaggerated, “You don’t get out of the hospital two hours after being drugged to high heaven. What did you do? Flash your credentials after you yanked out your IV?”

You cracked a weak smile at Rossi’s joke. It was true. You wouldn’t have been cleared to leave if you weren’t with the FBI.

“Seriously? What did they give you to reverse the effects? When I drink tequila I don’t wake up until the next day and if I remember my education on drugs correctly, the side effects of _rohypnol_ are a lot stronger” he continued, shaking his head as he reminisced on previous party nights.

As much as you wanted to laugh alongside him, your previous fears hadn’t disappeared. It was difficult to mask how you were really feeling. 

Rossi noticed your silence. “Hey, we’re not going to space town again right now. What’s wrong?”

You’d dodged giving Reid an answer earlier but there was no avoiding it with Rossi.“I messed up,” you confessed. “I could’ve walked right up to Miller, Rossi. I saw where he was in the club. We could’ve gotten a face a lot sooner and if I hadn’t been so _stupid_ I could’ve-”

He cut you off in disbelief. “Stupid? SSA Y/n L/n did not just call herself stupid.” 

“I stood around for twenty minutes, Rossi. I pretty much just drugged myself.”

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, knuckles turning pale. “No. You did not drug yourself, kid. Leo Kane was the one who spiked your drink and you had no way of knowing he would. He was the _bartender._ You really can’t expect that sort of thing.” Rossi was agitated and so were you. His words didn’t help the fact that you’d messed up though.

“But we knew some of the victims had rohypnol in their systems,” your voice was strained. “All I’m saying is I should’ve known better and now I’m going to have to explain to Hotch and probably Strauss why the reputation of the BAU is at stake _once again_. That’s all on my hands.” You took a deep breath, trying to relieve the tension that the words released. You thought getting it all out would help but saying it just made it more real.

Rossi didn’t agree with you. “You think Hotch is mad at you?” His voice was slow and calculating.

“Why wouldn’t he be?” Confusion forced your eyebrows together. 

“Y/n, I know Hotch doesn’t show a lot of emotions other than anger,” a small breathy laugh on your end interrupted Rossi, “but he’s not mad at you. None of us are. Now, you can blame yourself for what happened but none of us thought about the possibility _either_ ,” he emphasized.

You hadn’t thought of the situation like that. “So if Strauss decides to wreak havoc on you,” Rossi spoke, “which she won’t, you can tell her that this was all on us too. You didn’t ignore orders. You didn’t break protocol. You were doing your job.”

Rossi was starting to relieve your stress. “Well when you put it like that…”

“I will continue to _tell it how it is,_ ” he corrected, taking a left on Main. The two of you weren’t far from the station now. “...and let me remind you that no one here is upset at you. If anything, you’re building the BAU’s rep, not destroying it.”

Rossi’s compliment genuinely confused you and it was obvious he could tell.

“Did you forget your contacts?” He joked.

“I don’t wear glasses,” you scoffed with a grin, shaking your head.

Rossi’s eyebrows raised. “Well you need ‘em. Do I need to go all profiler on you, L/n?”

You sighed, knowing the inevitable was unavoidable. A tiny nod gave Rossi all the permission he needed and he cleared his throat.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he started. “Alright, SSA L/n…” he trailed with excitement, “Newest and youngest member of the BAU you doubt your place here and you try to compensate by proving you have a skillset worthy of this team,” he continued with a presentational tone. “Newsflash, Hotch wouldn’t have hired you if he thought you wouldn’t fit. Might I add that there were seven other applicants he turned down?”

“ _Seven?_ He never told me that,” you admitted. Hotch must’ve seen something in you that he didn’t see in anyone else. Turning down seven other applicants was a big deal by FBI standards.

“Neither did I,” Rossi grinned. His statement marked that the information he just spewed was meant to stay between the two of you. “Look, Y/n, this team has nothing but love for you. Everyone was worried sick when you passed out at the club. Reid almost had a heart attack.”

That statement was more shocking to you than the seven applicants one. “He did?”

Rossi threw his head back and rolled his eyes. “I was joking about the glasses earlier but now I’m serious. When we get back to Qunatico, you’re getting your eyes checked out.”

“What?”

“God help the younger generation. Those phones of yours have knocked a few screws loose in your head. Back in my day we wrote notes on paper...from _trees_.”

Now it was your turn to profile Rossi. He was clearly cracking jokes to distract you. “Rossi, what am I not seeing?” You pressed, waiting for a response.

“Not my place to say,” he replied. To Rossi’s advantage, the two of you had just arrived back at the station. Hotch and the rest of the team had already gotten out of the other SUVs and were walking inside.

Rossi shut off the engine and undid his seatbelt while you did the same. “Saved by the bell,” you rolled your eyes, getting out of the vehicle.

“Saved by the bell indeed,” he agreed, straightening his tie.

It didn’t take long to finish up with Livingston’s PD and to clear out of the conference room. Jasmine, the last girl Miller had abducted, reunited with her parents. JJ had called them on the ride back after getting info from Penelope and they were waiting on a couch just outside the chief’s office. The smiles on their faces weren’t comparable to anything. It was pure joy.

After gathering the remaining case files and securing your go bag, the team decided it was best to bite the bullet and sleep on the jet instead of waiting until the morning.

Your head was getting foggy again since there wasn’t a case to focus on anymore. When you boarded the jet Hotch had called Rossi and Prentiss over to discuss a previous case and JJ occupied the coveted bench. She earned it though; taking care of two toddlers on top of working for the BAU was tough. Morgan was entertaining himself in the corner with his headphones, listening to one of his playlists. That left you in your usual spot near the window across from Reid. Only the table separated you from the genius.

Leaning your head against the interior of the jet, you let yourself relax for takeoff. The soft chimes of the jet’s system and the hum of the engine lulled you into a trance close to sleep soon after, but you couldn’t quite keep your eyes shut for longer than fifteen minutes intervals. After a while, trying to sleep was proving to be more difficult than staying awake since you kept replaying the night in your head. For the most part, the events were still fresh in your mind. Blinking away the haze, you silently opened the shutter on the window. The jet had been up in the air for about two hours when you’d given up on sleep and you opted to focus on the lights of the passing cities below to ease your anxieties.

Looking at the city below, you attempted to guess how many people there were. By this time in the flight, you assumed you were over Chicago so that meant 2.7 million. There were 2.7 million people below you and you wondered how many were truly _living_. You didn’t really know the meaning of the word itself but you figured it had to be more than 50% right? Half of the population of Chicago doing alright, getting by, maybe having fun. Reid probably knew more accurate statistics but you guessed that a majority of the city had stories, had lives just as complex as yours. It was interesting to think about how different all those lives probably were.

It’s hard to grasp large quantities. Humans aren’t that skilled at it. Thinking about hundreds of thousands is difficult enough but to understand a million or even a billion seems impossible. There are 7 billion people living on Earth, though some might argue living is a strong word to describe how people spend their time. A lot of effort is dedicated to mindless work for the sole purpose of earning a bit of coin. But what’s the point if the overwhelming byproduct of that wealth is unhappiness? Of course, there’s different situations for everyone and no story is the same. You were sure there were handfuls of people who enjoyed their jobs but on the other hand, how many people longed for more? The thought could keep you up for hours. 

“You’re awake,” Reid’s soft voice finally disrupted your thought pattern. “Can’t sleep?”

In the seat directly in front of you sat Spencer Reid with a book in hand. You couldn’t quite make out the title in the light but it looked academic. You smiled and mentally rolled your eyes. Only Spencer would be reading a textbook at 1 am while the rest of the team slept. You hadn’t even noticed he was awake when you opened the jet’s window earlier.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “What is Doctor Spencer Reid reading at this hour?” you asked quietly, trying to not disturb the team. What could be so captivating that allured Reid to trade rest for knowledge?

“ _This is Your Brain on Music_ by Daniel Levitin,” he read the title. “It’s really interesting.”

You drew the sides of your cardigan closer to your body. “You find every book interesting,” you countered lightly.

“That’s true,” he set the book down on the table, sliding it aside. “It’s about the neuropsychological perspective on how music affects our brains, thoughts, and spirits,” Spencer paraphrased.

“Learn anything you didn’t already know before?” You prompted, hoping he’d spill a fact or two.

“Actually yes, no musical pieces impact us greater than the music we listened to at fourteen. That’s the age when we start making our own musical choices,” he recited with as much animation as he could without interrupting the sleeping members of the BAU. 

“What did you listen to at fourteen?” You asked, genuinely curious.

Spencer’s eyebrows raised for a second as he thought back to his youth. “A lot of classical, actually. But books were more my forte,” he replied honestly and repeated your question. “What did you listen to at fourteen?”

You thought back to your youth and it was difficult to form a solid answer. Fourteen was such a long time ago for you. “Probably Taylor Swift? I’m not sure.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, reminiscing silently on the simplicity of childhood. Even if those years weren’t that positive, they were definitely less stressful compared to now. There wasn’t a day when someone’s life wasn’t in danger and you couldn’t recall a time when you’d been in one state for longer than a week. Serial killers seldom take breaks.

“Y/n?” Reid’s tone changed as he noticed your posture turn inwards, “Are you alright?”

Ah, there it was. The question you’d been avoiding since the hospital a couple hours prior. You knew you’d have to face it eventually and Rossi’s advice in the SUV helped but advice could only do so much. “I’m sorry,” you said earnestly, “I was rude earlier back at the hospital and I’m glad you stayed with me for those two hours, Spence,” you confessed. “I can’t really describe why, but I was fine for a second when I woke up and I saw your sweater over my face,” you let your lips curl upwards, “but then everything came back all at once and I was scared, more scared when I woke up than when I passed out. I didn’t understand what was happening at the bar but at the hospital…” you trailed with a chill down your spine. Shaking your head as if the memory would fall off, you averted your gaze and opted to stare out the window. “I might not be sitting here right now if I had taken just one more sip. _One more._ ”

Spencer's eyes filled with empathy and he picked his next words carefully. “Y/n, I can’t imagine what that felt like,” he reassured, “but I do know that you never have to go through that again,” Reid rested his hand on the table and it was barely twitching as if he was conflicted about something.

“It was so blurry and then I saw your converse and I thought that would be the last time that I ever saw them again, ever saw you again or Emily or the team. I don’t know how you do it,” you spilled, nervously staring back at Reid.

“Do what?” He questioned, mouth parted in thought.

“Compartmentalize.”

“Ah,” Reid realized as he tipped his head back knowingly. You’d only been part of the team for about a year and the toll of being an agent was finally getting to you.

You kept explaining yourself. “I’m scared if I close my eyes I won’t open them again. I know it’s silly and that it's irrational but I just can’t convince myself that I’ll be okay. And I know I’m overreacting and everything only happened a few hours ago but I can just tell this is going to last,” you inhaled, worried about how you were going to make it out of this unscratched. You probably weren’t and what happened tonight would likely stay with you for a while. 

Spencer spoke with his hands and shook his head. “You’re not overreacting, not at all,” he soothed. “Do you want to know my secret?”

“You have secrets?”

“Everyone has secrets,” he rationalized with a tender grin, waiting for your reply. 

“Okay, so what’s yours?” You curiously urged, leaning forward in your seat.

He reciprocated your movement and leaned in as well to keep his voice quiet. Your heads were a foot apart. “Whenever I feel myself slipping back into a dark headspace I focus on a memory,” he said matter of factly, eyes wide. 

“A memory?” You whispered.

“Yeah,” Spencer spoke lightly. “A memory that brings me joy.”

“Like what? Getting your third PHD?” You didn’t peg Spencer Reid to be the sentimental type but as you got to know him over the past year you realized that nothing was off the table. He was difficult to read most of the time and he kept his thoughts private but you were determined to keep turning his pages until you’d consumed the series of Spencer Reid. 

He smirked at your joke, “I might try that sometime, but no. Think about something simple, something easy to replay over and over again in your head. It distracts you from whatever nightmare you’re reliving. It’s not a permanent fix but it helps,” he elaborated, rubbing the inner parts of his eyes. 

You figured Reid must be exponentially more tired now. If he looked exhausted at the hospital there was no doubt he was about to crash soon. A small rumble tore through your stomach. “I would do that right now but all I can think of is how hungry I am, so I guess that works too?” 

“We haven’t eaten since this morning,” Reid remembered. He turned his head to look for something. You assumed he was searching for his go bag. Maybe he had a snack.

“How close are we?” You questioned, peering back out the jet window. The clouds were wispy but you could still see the lights of the cities below you.

Spencer checked the watch that overlapped the sleeve of his sweater. “We’re about an hour and a half away from Quantico,” he whispered with disappointment.

That was definitely the opposite of what you wanted to hear and you groaned in frustration. “You’re serious?”

He nodded slowly and pursed his lips. “Unfortunately.”

“I should’ve packed some snacks in my bag,” you sighed, brushing the hair off your face.

“JJ has some trail mix in hers,” Reid offered, trying to cheer you up. 

“I’m not stealing trail mix from JJ, Reid!” you whisper scolded, ‘Besides, I would probably wake her up if I tried to open her bag,” you figured. Spencer silently agreed when a thought popped into your head. “Spence?” you asked.

“Yeah?”

You hesitated in your seat, “Do you want to go to our diner when we land?” You tested, hoping he’d want to get some food with you. He was tired, sure, but so were you, and being as the two of you were the only ones who couldn’t sleep on the jet, you figured that a few more hours of unrest wouldn’t be too bad especially if they involved food.

Spencer didn’t hesitate with this answer. “Are you getting pancakes or waffles this time?” he agreed to your invite, internally ecstatic that you used ‘our’ to refer to the diner. It was small, but that discourse marker meant you associated the 24/7 diner with _him_ and that very thought illuminated his mood.

“What’s your best guess, profiler?” you teased, hoping he’d be able to deduce what you were craving.

“Pancakes.”


End file.
